In Los Angeles, there are two sides to every bowling alley

They are the few, the proud, the straight-from-work.

They strut through the glass doors, custom gear in tow, while employees greet them by name, lowering their heads in deference.

They are the mighty Shatto Knights and they are damn good at bowling.

A recreational league that competes on a weekly basis, the Knights come to Shatto 39 Lanes to hang out, not to sip artisan martinis. They don’t follow a fancy dress code or expect trendy DJs like their Hollywood counterparts — they simply bowl.

Part bowling rink, archaic diner, dark bar, billiards hall and noisy arcade, the alley combines the brown linoleum aesthetic of a Los Angeles Unified School District high school built in 1952 with the washed out colors of Napoleon Dynamite. Though the eclectic players inside have their own unique stories, they are united by a love for bowling. If The Dude lived in Koreatown, he’d bowl here, comfortably lounging in a bright orange chair in front of signs that read “Bowl for Fun and Health.”

Trendy top-40 tunes blast on the speakers, and regulars eye newcomers suspiciously, keeping their favorite lanes on guard; teenagers stand ready to defend their favorite Street Fighter machines.

Frequent Shatto-goers include Amie Lieberman, a sophomore at the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising studying product development who has pink streaks in her hair. Since she joined the Knights in May with her best friend, she finds beating others is her favorite stress relief.

Her bowling partner, makeup artist Traci Raffelson, joins Lieberman every week.

“It’s so fun and it’s something I look forward to. And it’s cheap,” Lieberman said.

The pair visit the alley so often that the management gave the two their own bowling shoes. Lieberman, of course, adds her own style: gold spray paint and pink laces.

The patriarch of the group is a majestic, gray-haired man who has his own audience that sips beer as they watch him warm up. Julio Herrante, a toolmaker, started bowling 15 years ago with his wife and children. Now, he comes to continue practicing his skills. He brags, in slow English, about the seven tournaments he has won, flashes his silver ring from a Vegas tournament and points proudly to the spot on the wall that commemorates his highest score, 289 — two pins away from perfect.

These are details of what bowling should be: a strange, grimy anachronism that serves as haven for the tired and common; part of the relaxed Los Angeles lifestyle punctuated by gutters and strikes — a meditative, carefree activity enjoyed by everyone.

Three miles away is a modern version that threatens the integrity of, to use the parlance of our times, bumming around. Lucky Strike Lanes at L.A. Live, a bar-club-lounge-bowling-alley monstrosity, threatens the innocence and charm of local low-key bowling.

Bowling at Lucky Strike is considered “cool.” The alley’s lack of direct lighting gives way to projections of up-and-coming artists, the latest music and sophisticated cocktails. Though the progression from cheap date to hip activity makes sense — the popularity of The Big Lebowski and slick marketing no doubt helped the company — it’s no surprise bowling is cool enough to warrant celebrity birthday bashes featured in InStyle and People magazines.

Lucky Strike’s first location in Hollywood even owes its bar to the now-demolished Hollywood Star Lanes, the site where The Dude, Walter and Donny hung out in the movie. The countertop was Hollywood Star Lanes’ seventh lane. As a wise man once said, sometimes you eat off the bar and sometimes the bar eats you.

Instead of fries and hot dogs rotating in a machine, the lounge serves chicken pillows, flat iron steak and country corn hash with grilled shrimp. With pretentiously small plates come a gradiose dress code; one that prohibits athletic wear, sweats, plain white T-shirts and ripped or soiled clothing, among other items.

The Dude would not be welcome here.

Luxury bowl lounges don’t just limit themselves to Hollywood; there are two other Lucky Strike locations in Los Angeles County, as well as similar companies like 300. Such places are only the lonely bastard child of an American tradition loved by regular California folk. These lounges just seem like a strange, sexy version of an evangelical religion steeped in tradition that have suddenly become fashionable, like Kabbalah.

Comparing Shatto and Lucky Strike is like driving through any major LA neighborhood; each one includes elegant three-story houses a mere mile from gang territory. Such juxtaposition doesn’t just manifest itself in sudden changes in the quality of the highway asphalt, but in the price of bowling shoe rentals. The mere existence of these two opposite but parallel establishments characterizes the binary nature of the Los Angeles spirit, the fusion between the trendy and the comfortable, the cheap and the chic.

Ultimately, both alleys have smelly shoes and offer the same simple sport; just two undeniably LA spins on the same thing.

Clare Sayas is a junior majoring in public relations. Her column, “Lost & Found,” runs Thursdays.